coincidence: fascinating
by Missmathdork1608
Summary: "I don't have a middle name, Mor, and you're being obstinate. Just leave me to listen to the universe laugh at me in peace."/"My money's on her having travelled back in time."/"It began one — or five years ago, depending on how you look at it. It began when I shot the wolf."


**The song used in this fic is _Bright_ by Echosmith. It's a beautiful song; highly recommended to listen to. And this AU popped into my head and I was like "This is perfect!" so I stayed up the night before the PSAT writing the bare bones of this. In this AU, Feyre travels back in time alone around four years after ACOFAS. Rhys does not remember at all, and he did not tell Mor anything because this time he had time to gather himself after the mating bond struck.** **Also, I strongly believe Feyre would fallen for Rhys in a matter of days if he had actively been pursuing and courting her during ACOMAF instead of kind of just trying to ignore his feelings. P.S. I might make this a multichapter, hence the bit with Mor and the guitarist. Enjoy!**

* * *

Rhys looked sullen and bored, and like he wished he'd never agreed to tagging along with Mor. Too bad. He was _going_ to meet Feyre, and he was _going_ to at least think about someone other than the mystery girl he'd been pining away for the last three months.

Beside her, Cassian was prodding conversation into Azriel, who was jabbing back when he wasn't busy talking quietly with Rhys. He only received one-word answers, anyway.

They were all waiting for Feyre to stop by their table, as she always did. They'd taken to sitting at the circular booth in the back corner of the café, one of the many such shops lining the Sidra. A soulful, lively jig flowed from the violin of the closest street performer, and a couple was now dancing to it, laughing. There was a crowd around them, cheering them on.

Feyre was conversing with a fair-skinned male at the table across from theirs, tray balanced effortlessly in one hand and laughing at something his companion had said. The male was tan, with uptilted brown eyes reminiscent of Xian ancestry, and smiling proudly.

She ruffled the fair-skinned male's hair. "Well, Tezan, I'll leave to your love. Let me know how it goes." To his companion, she added, "And you better not break my regular's heart, sir, or he'll be reminded of it every time he comes here and I won't see him again. If you do get married, I want an invitation." Feyre inclined her head, grinning, before sauntering over to the table behind Mor. The males behind her were blushing; Tezan's companion murmured something to his date that had him blushing even harder.

Rhys said suddenly, in response to something Az had said, "Gods damn it, Az, all I want is a cup of tea and some respite from you idiots. I don't _want_ a lover."

"But you want that mystery female of yours," Cassian noted, effortlessly inserting himself into the conversation.

Rhys ignored this. "And as such, I don't see why I have to _be_ here."

Mor raised an eyebrow. "And what would you have done without us?" When Rhys didn't respond, she plowed on, "Sulked at home and read _another_ one of those infernal romance novels, no doubt. This isn't healthy, Rhys." Her cousin looked like he wanted to winnow back home. "I repeat, you're clearly pining and not making it easier on any of us. I know you probably do love her, but she doesn't even know your middle name."

"I don't have a middle name, Mor, and you're being obstinate. Just leave me to listen to the universe laugh at me in peace." Rhys propped his chin on his palm and stared pointedly out of the window behind Az.

Mor opened her mouth to prod him further, but a tray landed on the table, held by familiar hands and sparkling blue-gray eyes. She looked up to see Feyre flash an affectionate, self-assured smile. "Hello, Sunshine. Sweetheart. Sass."

Azriel looked mildly discomfited by his nickname. Cassian grinned. "Hello, Cursebreaker." It was everyone's title for her: Mor had heard something about her being involved with Amarantha and her death. Maybe she'd known the human female that captured Rhys's heart. The details were still murky, even after three months; Mor supposed only the High Lords would know the truth.

Rhys had gone still, nostrils flaring, as if he was . . . scenting her? His entire body had tensed, and he clearly wanted to look and see who it was.

Feyre's mouth dropped open when she spotted him. "You actually — he actually — " She cleared her throat, and a blush gathered in her cheeks.

Mor, Cassian, and Az stared at her. Feyre didn't get _flustered_. She'd barely batted a lash when Cassian recounted tales of past wars — she'd offered some of her _own_ and left them all to wonder when she'd been involved in something so vast — or when a drunken female had gotten on a knee last week and offered her a ring. Feyre had only smiled sadly and said she was already married (Mor had seen no ring, but she supposed the girl was just being polite). But now . . . yes, that was fascination and longing lighting her face as she stared at Rhys. Oddly enough, it was the same look Rhys got when he thought about that human girl.

Mor jabbed her shoulder; Feyre jumped and looked guilty. She cleared her throat, slipping back into the Feyre Mor knew. "Let's see," she said. "I've got a double espresso for Cassian — you are going to kill yourself with your caffeine intake, I swear — one surprise drink for Az — it's sea salt and chocolate and mint, let me know what you think — and a caramel coffee for two — now _hold on_ just a second." Her eyes flicked to Rhys, and she almost purred, "I never expected _you_ to be a caramel coffee person."

Shit. Mor should have warned her beforehand that Rhys wouldn't be interested. She really, really didn't want to see her friend's heart broken —

Rhys sat up and turned to face her, cheeks faintly red. "And I never expected to find you doling out coffees and compliments in the middle of my city, yet here we are."

Mother _fuck._

Feyre put a hand to her heart. "Your reaction flatters me, love, but again, you never struck me as a caramel coffee person."

"I'm not," he agreed and pointed at Mor. Feyre's eyes didn't stray from his face, like she was memorizing every detail of it. "She ordered my drink, and she also dragged me here."

Feyre's eyes now slid to Mor. _Thank you_ , they said. Mor smirked and sipped her coffee. "I asked her to. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Rhys said and Mor nearly spat out her mouthful of coffee. Then he reached out and took her left hand, turned it face-up, and tapped the center of her palm in a shockingly intimate gesture that Feyre _let_ him make. "A little warning would be nice the next time, however."

Cassian thumped Mor's back. There was a little smile on Feyre's face. "I'll do that." She curled her fingers around Rhys's for a moment, and squeezed them before letting go. "I'm assuming you _don't_ want this caramel coffee, then."

Rhys's hand froze on the table, as if mourning the loss of contact, before he withdrew it. "Not really. I prefer your company."

Azriel coughed once. Feyre's eyes flicked to him, and the corners of her mouth turned up. "I'll be right back, then." She paused, then leaned down and kissed his cheek very briefly. Then she grabbed the untouched coffee and walked to the back of the café rather quickly.

Rhys stared after her, then buried his head in his hands. "She kissed my cheek," he said in a muffled voice.

"We know, Rhys," Az said in his quiet, solid voice. It held an adequate amount of amusement. "We were there. Also, your parting shot was shit."

"I panicked," he said, voice still muffled. A pause. "Cauldron, she called me love. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep again."

Cassian narrowed his eyes. "Yes, about that. I thought you were pining."

"I was," Rhys said through his hands. "Remember that bargain I made Under the Mountain?" He'd told them bare basics of what had happened, to expect a guest once a month, but he'd never called it in. And he'd never told them her name either.

No.

No way.

"Yes way," Rhys said simply, dropping his hands and sitting up.

She scowled at him. "If I think too loud, then don't listen to my thoughts."

He raised an eyebrow. "One, I wasn't listening to your thoughts. I knew you'd realize it. Two, do you think you'd be able to ignore someone shouting in your ear?"

"Yes," Mor shot back, surprise pouring through her. He was . . . bantering. Responding. "I ignore you everyday, don't I?"

Cassian cut in, "You're pining over _Feyre_?" He looked like he'd seen that thing in the library making flower crowns and wasn't sure how he felt about it. "You could have told us two months back. She's been asking after you since Mor decided to drop by."

Rhys looked surprised. "Two months? Wait — wait a minute." Something sparked in his eyes, and the shock that hit Mor at seeing him so alive was like a sledgehammer to the temple. " _She's_ the female you brought me to meet?"

Then he burst out laughing, open and amused and lovely.

Mor blinked away her tears. She hadn't heard Rhys laugh like that in . . . decades. A quick look at Cassian and Az revealed that they, too, were staring at Rhys with sorrow in their eyes.

Rhys quieted when he realized they were all staring at him. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No, you idiot," Feyre said, appearing out of nowhere and setting down a cup of what smelled like green tea. "You were laughing. Here you go, by the way."

Rhys apparently chose to disregard the former part of her comment and looked suspiciously at the drink. "What is this?"

Feyre shifted on her feet; Mor guessed it was more out of the need to relieve them than from any nervousness. "What you were _going_ to order."

Rhys's eyebrows went up. "Were you reading my mind?"

"No, I was reading you." She jerked her chin at the cup. "Green tea with three sugars; a tablespoon of brandy on the bad days and three tablespoons on the really bad ones."

"And on the worst ones?"

A knowing smile. "Let's just say you don't drink tea."

Mor felt sure she wasn't the only one who noticed Rhys going starry-eyed at that smile. But he blinked, seeming to clear his thoughts. "I thought you were in the Spring Court."

Feyre examined something on her left hand. "I stayed there for two days, then packed a bag full of food and clothes and left with Alis's and Lucien's blessing. Then I sailed up the coast, and landed in Velaris." Her eyes landed on the couple outside the café, now dancing to a slow, romantic song that spilled from the street performer's violin, and her face softened, love and longing rising to the surface like a ice on water. A moment later, a second violin joined the first, overflowing with emotion. "Never have I been gladder."

Rhys's eyes landed on her left hand, and he tensed slightly, very slightly. Mor realized what had drawn his attention a second later. Something glittered dully on her left ring finger — a plain silver band. It was nearly invisible against her skin when seen from the corner of the eye, but startlingly _there_ when viewed head-on. Then her hand moved to rest on the table. Mor tried to avert her gaze quickly, but Feyre had noticed. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Ah. That."

"That wasn't there Under the Mountain," Rhys said, voice and face only betraying curiosity. But the rest of the table was watching him, Mor included, and she could tell he was jealous. Irrationally, obviously, and of course he knew it, but his eyes were a shade darker than normal.

Somehow, Feyre could tell. Mor didn't know how, but she knew the other female was aware that she held Rhys's complete, unyielding attention. "I picked it up on my way back to the Spring Court from where it had been stashed for safety." Not where _she_ had stashed it, Mor noted.

His eyes traveled to the ring again. Mor understood wanting to examine the ring, but this was a tad overkill. "Is it yours?"

She sucked in a breath at the rudeness of the question, but Feyre was unfazed. "Do you mean, do I own it?" When Rhys nodded, looking strangely curious, she said, "No, it's been passed down from female to female for generations. It's a family heirloom, though."

Rhys angled his head, calculation and intent sparking in his eyes as his hair slid over his brow. "But not in your family."

"No," she agreed and Mor was not at all prepared for her next words. "My mate's."

She was _mated_? But — but she clearly liked Rhys, and Rhys liked her, and she was aware of her mate's existence, but he wasn't dead, or she wouldn't be wearing his ring _and_ not grieving, which meant —

Her line of reasoning dwindled to a halt when she saw Rhys's face. Cassian looked shocked and worried, Az looked faintly surprised (which for him was the equivalent of what the actual fuck). Both looked wary. Rhys, however, looked shocked and — expectant? _Hopeful_? "Your mate?" he rasped.

There was something Rhys hadn't told her. He was keeping something from her. This was only proven when Feyre smiled sadly, and laid her left palm on the table, silver band visible.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then the dull silver quivered and shook itself clean of the tarnish like a wet dog shaking itself dry, and began separating into strands. Cords of gold snuck and twisted through the silver to cradle —a sapphire. A very, very familiar sapphire, now surrounded by the pearls that the ring was suddenly flecked with.

Adara's ring.

Dead silence. Then Rhys said, surprisingly calmly, "How long have you known?"

"Since Calanmai," Feyre said, smiles gone. She only looked solemn. "Before you say anything, I know you all want an explanation, and my shift is over. Meet me in five minutes in Lanqua Park." Then she turned and strode for the back of the café.

Rhys swallowed. "I — need a minute." He rose with surprising grace and stillness. "I'll meet you in the park."

Mor watched him go. Worry gnawed at her heart. What if he receded back into himself? What if Feyre had undone three months of progress?

A guitar began strumming outside, the chords quick and sunny. Azriel said, finally, "I'm worried."

"About what, specifically?" Cassian poked at his now-empty drink — Mor didn't remember when he'd finished it. His voice was surprisingly bitter. "Rhys's mate? The fact that a twenty-one-year-old got past the Weaver? Under the Mountain?"

"I think the universe is on my side," a female sang outside.

Azriel steepled his fingers and in a quiet voice, "She approached me two months ago and told me I needed to set up a guard around a healthy majority of the temples up north, but specifically Cesere, Sangravah, and Itica, and that I absolutely could not tell Rhys. I refused, so she informed me that something very dangerous was hidden in the temples and that Hybern would be coming to wreck them, and she left. And . . ." He blew out a breath, the first sign of resignation she'd seen from him in three decades and something wrapped a cold fist around her heart. "I didn't want to take any chances, so I did it. Last month, Itica was attacked."

The breath went out of Mor's lungs. No — no, not the priestesses . . .

"The priestesses are shaken, but fine," Az said as if he could read her thoughts. Cassian put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They were trying to get to the inner defenses of the temple, for some reason." His eyes darkened. "Feyre knows what it is."

Mor couldn't take it anymore. She downed the last of her coffee, and set it on the table. "Then we should probably go find out."

She got up, and suppressed a smile at seeing Tezan and his date whispering to each other. "You make me sing, ooh ooh ooh, la la la," sang the female voice.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool. Lanqua Park was on the other side of the Sidra. In the far distance, near one of the bridges, she could make out Rhys walking across it, his hands in his pockets.

To the left of the café, a female with brown hair gathered into an approximation of a ponytail coaxed a starry melody from her guitar. She continued, "You make a girl go, ooh ooh ooh, I'm in love, love."

Behind her, Cassian said quietly, "Let's go, Mor."

Mor couldn't tear her eyes from the female. "Did you see that shooting," she continued, "star tonight?"

She looked up and met Mor's eyes as she sang the next line. She had peculiar, beautiful eyes: one black as night, the other blue as the Sidra's waters on a sunny day. "Were you dazzled by the same constellation?"

"Mor?"

She shook her head, the connection suddenly broken. The singer looked back at the guitar, brows furrowed slightly in concentration as the chords shifted. "Did you and Jupiter conspire to get me?"

"I'm coming." She began walking through the moderate crowds to the bridge she'd seen Rhys cross. "Sorry."

Cassian and Azriel caught up, flanking her. The former said from her left, "How do you think she knows?"

"Knows what?"

"Everything." Cassian nodded at Azriel. "Hybern, the fact that Adara's ring was passed down from female to female, that it was at the Weaver's cottage, that any female who wanted to be with Rhys had to get it, Velaris's location."

Azriel said quietly as they neared the bridge, "Well, at least we don't have to debate her suitability for Rhys. She got past the Weaver." He paused, then added, "My money's on her having travelled back in time."

Mor blinked at him. That was . . . how was that even possible? Beside her, Cassian let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You're not serious."

"Be considerate, Cassian," she found herself sniping absentmindedly as they crossed the bridge. "You have approximately one brain cell. Let Az explain himself."

Azriel gave her a small, grateful smile, shadows twining around his neck and shoulders like a scarf against the rushing background of the Sidra's grayish blue waters. "She knew things, but she knew specific things. Like Rhys's preference for tea, and exactly where Velaris lies. I'm sure she cannot pinpoint the exact location of Adriata on a map, or of the Weaver's cottage itself in a map of the Middle." He flexed his fingers. "And of course, there was Hybern, and that business with the three temples. I think she's trying to prevent a tragedy. She seems to have a definitive knowledge of this world up to a certain point — about two years, maybe. And it explains where she got those stories of war from, certainly — there was one in her timeline. And the way she looks at all of us . . ." He swallowed. "There's affection and sorrow in her eyes — especially when she looks at Rhys."

They had crossed the bridge as Az spoke, and Lanqua Park loomed to their left, quiet and unassuming yet watchful. Mor had found that after centuries in the same place, it spoke to you, let you know that it was paying attention — whether it was the terrible, unsettling stare of the stones in the Hewn City, or the lovely, maternal awareness of Velaris's parks. She spied Feyre's fair head close to Rhys's dark one under a tree with broad, spreading branches, and — Amren? Were her eyes functioning?

"Bloody fuck," Cassian hissed. "Is that _Amren_?"

Mor held her hands out to the two Illyrians silently. They clasped it, and she winnowed to a few feet away from the tree.

Feyre's position mirrored Rhys's, who was leaning on the tree, and speaking quietly to Amren. Her apron was gone, revealing a flowery, fitted violet blouse and simple brown pants. Something black and fluffy drifted around her neck; a lace scarf?

No, that was . . . a kitten made of _shadows_. It purred loudly at Rhys, then at Amren. The silver-eyed female gave the kitten a distasteful look, and shook the small, clearly empty container flipped open in her left hand in a threatening gesture. A spicy, metallic tang drifted from it. Feyre frowned at Amren. "Be nice to Shadows."

Amren scowled. "I hate that cat, and I hate its name."

"You could at least say 'her'," Rhys said mildly, reaching up to run a finger along Shadows' neck. The kitten purred again, loudly enough to be truly peculiar. It might have been Mor's imagination, but she saw Feyre shiver a little as well. "Though I have to admit, Feyre darling, it isn't exactly the best of names. Azriel might be offended."

"I am," Az said simply.

Feyre glanced up at them and smiled. "I was fresh out of ideas. You made it." She nodded at him. "How was the drink?"

Ever since Mor had talked Azriel into first coming to the little café with her, Feyre had made surprise drinks for him each time he stopped by, with ingredients Mor hadn't really thought could go together. Azriel liked them, though, especially the sweeter ones. "Good," he said now. "The sea salt was a nice touch, though it still had a little more chocolate than allowed."

Feyre scoffed, apparently unaware of Rhys gazing at her with realization chasing intrigue across his face. "There is no such thing as too much chocolate, Azriel. You of all people should know that."

Cassian crossed his arms. Mor realized his eyes had been narrowed at Amren for a full thirty seconds. He hadn't even blinked. "Did you know?" he bit out.

"I know a great many things, boy." Those swirling, fractal eyes locked on Cassian. "You'll have to be more specific."

Cassian opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt land him in shit, but Feyre cleared her throat and threw a pointed glance at the open container in Amren's hand. "I believe you were bribed into ignoring something."

Amren glanced at the container and sighed. "Not worth it."

"It's fresh, hot, and spiced well, if Sevenda and your reaction to opening the container are to be believed," Feyre shot back. "It's well worth it, Amren."

Amren's face twisted into a little moue of distaste before returning to its normal state of indifference. "Very well, girl." She waved a hand. "And before you ask, boy," — a jerk of her head at Cassian — "she asked me to meet her here. I had no idea the rest of you would be here until two minutes ago, when she arrived with the blood."

Mor realized with a jolt that Feyre had known exactly how Amren would react to their presence, and she'd anticipated the tension between Cassian and Amren, too. It was chilling.

Maybe Az's theory held some weight, after all.

Feyre flicked her fingers, and a blanket appeared on the grass, along with a huge basket that smelled absolutely delicious. "Amren's bribe wasn't the only thing I picked up from Sevenda's," she said with a half-smile. "I thought we could have a picnic while I explained everything."

Rhys blinked once, and a half-smile similar to his mate's etched itself across his face. "As you say, darling."

He had evidently recovered from his shock, and was now actively wooing her, by the looks of it. A blush worthy of the autumn sunset painting the sky above the sea to the far right spread across Feyre's cheeks, and she was clearly biting the side of her cheek to keep from smiling. Amren rolled her eyes and said loudly, "Lovesick birds," before sitting down.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the Second, then looked expectantly at Mor. She remembered what Azriel had said about the sorrow in Feyre's eyes, and she noted Rhys's hand lying just a little too close to Feyre's. She remembered Feyre listening to Mor's account of her day, intently, always joking, always brightening Mor's day, remembered every time she'd thought _Cauldron, she's_ perfect _for Rhys_ in the past three months. And Feyre had died for them — for them _all_.

She lowered herself on to the blanket, well away from the basket, Cassian and Azriel following suit. She wasn't quite hungry yet — the coffee she'd finished five minutes ago had seen to that for the time being — but she was a little afraid she'd be too absorbed in Feyre's story to notice that she'd finished half of everyone's dinner.

A corner of Feyre's mouth went up. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to guard the food from you."

Mor thought for a startled moment that the female had read Mor's mind, before remembering that she already knew Mor quite well, time travel or no. Feyre lowered herself on to the blanket, leaning against the tree. Where, Mor noted, she could rest her head on Rhys's shoulder if she moved it three inches.

A pointed cough from Azriel and a snort from Amren told her she wasn't the only one to notice. Feyre rolled her eyes, mustering a smile briefly before her face fell. She picked at the blanket, then said, "It began one — or five years ago, depending on how you look at it. It began when I shot the wolf."


End file.
